


Shaking Loose

by mushi6618



Series: From The First To The Last [1]
Category: Beetlejuice (1988), Beetlejuice (TV 1989)
Genre: Angst, Bad Ideas, Bathtubs, Beginnings, Boats and Ships, Character Death, Dark Ages, Dead People, Death, Depressing, Despair, Drowning, Explanations, Family, Family Loss, Fate Worse Than Death, First Born, Gen, Growing Up, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Historical Inaccuracy, Historical References, It Gets Worse, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Loss of Parent(s), Meant To Be, Middle Ages, Past Character Death, Plague, Poor Life Choices, Post-Canon, Short One Shot, Speculation, Starting Over, Suicide, The Other World, Tragedy, Tricksters, Unspecified Setting, Wishful Thinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-11-27 05:22:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18190316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mushi6618/pseuds/mushi6618
Summary: The Powers That Be knew from the start he'd be special.





	Shaking Loose

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This story has a description of suicide. Please don't read if you are sensitive to this subject.

…

_Year: 1351_

_Age: Newborn_

…

A tall man in large trousers and a tight-fitting coat began to pace. His hat was pulled low to cover his eyes, mouth a firm line & jaw squared, his large boots trampling the dirt down in the small hut; packing it into a better floor. His movements, to & fro, in front of the door, did little to ease his worry or excitement.

Today was the day!

The day his first child would be born.

The small hut he was in was outside of the usual route he and Bea would have taken. He knew the risk but had decided to travel with her “condition” anyway. His new job was rather demanding. The small ship he'd acquired in his latest bet turned into a great investment.

Goods from Asia became quite an out-sourced item and he’d been contacted by a French exporter for use of his vessel. As such he had to make the long trip to the man’s estate in France. Leaving England would have been easy with the use of his ship, but his wife had no family that would be able to take care of her while she was with child & she refused to travel by boat. She was a suspicious sort, determined that if she set foot an a vessel that traveled across water she'd surely drown.

He sighed.

A smile appeared on his weathered face for despite Bea's oddities he loved her. His beautiful wife had become blessed with his child. A child that was due _now_ , just as the leaves had started to turn.

“Mr. Nataliē Juice.” A tall plump woman emerged from the doorway. She had an attitude about her that screamed “ _don’t mess with me_ ” and her stare was cold & hard. “You have a son, he is… _alive_. Have you thought about a name for him?”

“Um, n-no, how is Beatrice?” He was put off by this woman’s nature. She seemed smarter than most of the women in the villages, yet her demeanor exuded fear & intimidation.

“Your wife fell unconscious after her last heave. Do not worry, she’ll be fine. Your son, however, still requires a name.  I would think that should be your priority at the moment.”

The woman gave him a curt nod in his son’s direction. Walking through the doors he spied on his wife. She was resting on the pallet, her small plump figure curled in on itself and he let his breath go. Relived by the sight he approached the small basket that sat on the table in front of him. Looking down onto the creature Nat’s eyebrows shot up.

The child was a deathly color. Blood drained from the man's face as he panicked and his hands shot out to grab the boy. At his touch, the child’s eyes opened, a striking jade just like his mother’s, and proceeded to fill the room with a scream that seemed almost inhuman to the new father.

Startled, he looked to the midwife.

Slitting her eyes the crone peered at the infant as a shiver passed over Nataliē. He looked back at his son.  The boy had flushed with color from his outburst, going from a deathly purple-pale to a rosy pink. He shook his head; it must have been a trick of the light.

“He will be a trouble maker.” Nat’s eyes once more turned to the midwife. “What will you name him?”

Nataliē Juice cradled his new son in his arms, eyes never leaving the woman’s, and frowned at her. Why should it matter if he gave his son a name right this instant? Finally breaking eye contact, he looked down at the squirming baby. His son had most of his mother’s features and a tuff of her light yellow hair, yet somehow the infant had Nat’s distinct masculinity about him. The boy blew a small raspberry at his father and the man melted. Nat drew a blank, what _would_ he name this little trickster?

“Perhaps I can make a suggestion?” He looked up. “It must have been an act of fate that your babe would be born this particular night. The stars have transpired to produce his… _characteristic_ nature.”

“What do you mean?”

“A star had been burning an unusual color this evening; I believe your son is the product of its power.” At the man’s questioning gaze she continued. “The boy should have died. He wasn’t breathing when thrust from the womb.” She paused. “His name is Betelgeuse.”

Nataliē made a face. “Are you sure that’s a, uh, _good_ name?” Watching her nod made him laugh. “Betelgeuse …Juice! Why not?” The new father continued laughing at the joy his new son gave him.

The man didn’t notice when the woman frowned, or when she walked out of the shack. Her job as a midwife only lasted for one night and she already used all her power to travel to the Realworld. Who knew that she’d have the honor of delivering the strongest soul she’d ever felt. As she returned to the hill she died on, the one where she made a vow to help any women in labor after her own pregnancy took her life, her eyes looked up towards the sky to search out the star that still shown.

“Betelgeuse…” A shiver passed over her as she returned to the Neitherworld.

_…_

_Year: 1367_

_Age: 16_

…

It was the jump that had impressed Donny. Betel knew it. His younger brother may not always go along with him on these little stunts, but the kid did envy them. Smirking and brushing some of his wheat-colored hair from his face, Betelgeuse looked up. Donny was straddling the fence, red-faced & full of fear.

“Ha, ha. Come on Don- _won_ were gonna be late if we're gonna get _in_.” At this, he wiggled his eyebrows up at the flushed boy.

Donny’s face darkened even further at the thought of what his older brother explained to him earlier… and proceeded to fall from his perch. He landed on his face. Betelgeuse cringed. The ridiculous escapade was all a part of Betelgeuse’s idea to confiscate some of their mother’s clothing in order to seek in, via feminine camouflage, and catch a peek at some of the beauties at the local brothel. It was just one more of his schemes to get by with little-to-no money.

“Oww… I think I might have broken something…”

“Ah, come on Donny…” He stood his brother up, checked him, and brushed the dirt off of him. “…this is good for you, why if I had this opportunity when I was your age I would have jumped at it!”

“B-But I’m only fourteen...” Donny made a face at him; it was ruined since he’d lost a tooth & somehow managed a black eye from the fall. “We're going to get into **trouble**.”

Betel shook his head and laughed.

Donny, or Donald as their parents decided to name him, seemed to be the exact opposite of Betelgeuse in almost every way. It was weird, especially since the two boys could be twins. Donny had the same green eyes and wheat hair color as Betelgeuse. Yet, where Donny’s hair was short Betelgeuse’s was long. Donny’s eyes were always a dull grass green and Betelgeuse’s were a fiery jade. Donny had a much leaner figure thanks to his work out by the docks; Betelgeuse, on the other hand, let himself get a little chubby by working indoors on the books.

“Ah, come on; let’s see how long we last before the old hag catches on that were undercover!”

Brothers through thick & thin…

…

_Year: 1380_

_Age: 29_

_…_

He had somehow become a part of a dead circus. Life revolved around a series of scams, booze, loose women, and travel. Betelgeuse stayed in a town for three days, sold his wares, and left before he could be lynched for selling them a false dream.

It was lonely.

It was depressing.

It kept him alive.

He drifted through another village.

People…

Dead people…

Living people…

They all resided in the same places these days. He snarled a laugh and scratched the gut he’d acquired after too much ale and mead. He somehow survived the world’s little disaster, immune to death. Never being able to contract the disease that seemed to plague every town he visited.

He even managed to make a **profit** on it.

Gurgling up a wad of spit he shot it at the dead body left to rot on the side of the road. Gripping the reins tighter he whipped the half-dead mare to go faster. Betel’s body leaned back on the stagecoach.  It had a large cross painted on both sides and pictures of medical equipment. In large bold print the words “Miracle Betel Juice” were scrawled above and below the pictures.

Looking at the boarded-up homes with crosses on them he knew he’d either find a good scam or be able to pick up items from those who were going to die. Passing a small church, its windows & doors boarded up, Betel could only sneer at the decapitated temple. ‘ _Perhaps this will be another pilfering job?_ ’ Betel thought as he slowed his horse; it seemed there was a gathering of people at the center.

 _‘Hmm, guess it’s a scamming town…’_ He mind began working. ‘ _Doesn’t look like they trade much here…_ ’

Betelgeuse came to a stop at the center of town and made sure that his horse was secure, but not so secure that if he needed to make a quick escape he could. In the past, there were too many close calls with angry near-dead disease ridden customers and it had taught him that having an exit strategy would **always** pay off.

A crowd was forming as he set up shop. Climbing into the back of the covered coach he unclasped the window, part of the picture on the side of the coach became his display table. He quickly set up his stock of glasses, jar, and flasks of “Miracle Betel Juice”. He turned around to the two trees’ he’d kept in the coach and picked fruit from each. Grabbing a knife he turned to the crowd.

“Ladies and Gents’! May I present to ya’ the famous and renowned Betelgeuse!” He made a grand sweeping gesture with the hand that held the knife and bowed to the crowd. “I bring you something amazing from beyond the homelands of our God an’ good Ol’ England!”

At this, he produced the hand with the two fruits. Holding them up Betel watched as people’s eyes gazed at the yellow and green fruit. A small smirk began to form. He could tell that this crowd knew nothing about his wares.

“These, Ladies and Gentleman, are _miracle stones_. They are so-called ‘cause they can cure whatever may ale thee.” His eyes shifted over the crowd, from what he could tell they were all buying it. “Only I can extract the juice from these miraculous rocks!”

With a flick of his hand he reviled the knife set down the “yellow rock” and in one fluid motion cut it in two. The crowd openly gawked at him. Giving them a charming smile he proceeded to do the same with the “green rock”.

“Now if I could have a volunteer?”

The group of people closest to him gaped. They were probably shocked that this relatively healthy outsider was willing to go near them. Betelgeuse knew that half the crowd was infected with the disease that had wiped out most of his country, his home town, and his _life_.

It was a young woman that had approached the coach first. She was short, barely able to see over his makeshift counter. He eyed her for a moment. She would have made a lovely bride to some lucky fool had she not been deathly grey and covered in scars. There was only one boil on her neck that he could see, and thought to himself, perhaps she was trying to hide the rest beneath her raven hair.

“I w-would like t-too…” Her eyes caught him; a deep brown filled with a burning desire to live.

He sucked in a breath.

Then shoved the guilt that formed in his throat down with a cough.

“Very well young lady…” He picked up the lemon and extended it to her. “…please smell this.”

She stood on her tiptoes and extended her neck. Yep, she was definitely trying to hide the boils with her hair. Betelgeuse’s face never wavered as the woman’s eyes closed and sniffed the sour fruit. Surprised, she opened them to look at him in shock. Her mouth agape formed a delicate O. A small amount of lust washed over his being at the sight of her parted lips. 

Betelgeuse shook off the feeling and smiled at the young woman; she was hooked and now so was the crowd. “Miss, if I may ask? Have you ever smelled something so refreshing? Let alone a have heard a rock ever having a scent?” Her eyes were wide and focused on the yellow fruit.

“N-no, never.” She admitted breathlessly.

“Well, I have and as ya can see I have found a way to extract not only the _scent_ from this rock but its _cure-all_ qualities!”

He quickly ducked back into the coach and brought out an odd shaped bowl. He picked up the lemon half and began to grind it onto the spike that protruded in the center of the bowl. Juice flowed from it; the scent seemed to surround the small crowd. Everyone held their breath at the sight.

“Now…” He picked up the half of lime. “…the golden rock’s juice shall only cure your ailment. However, with the addition of this...” He held up the lime to the crowd. “…the juices of the herb rock shall enhance your body allowing it to not only _recover_ from your ailment but to _never_ fall ill to it again.”

“All it takes is three swigs…” He picked up a bottle. “…of this and three days time for it to work!”

Betelgeuse looked down at the young woman that stared at him like he was some sort of God. Her earthen gaze pierced his heart, but his mind argued: he had to do what he could to live. Leaning over the counter he lowered the lovely shaped bottle and handed it to the girl. Shaky hands slowly accepted the gift and she looked up at him with misty eyes.

He swallowed his guilt once more.

“For being the most beautiful of volunteers.”  Her eyes spilled over with tears as a blushed colored her face.

Betel could see at that moment how he would have given anything for their world to be different. He wanted to be this woman’s fool. He wanted to marry her. He wished to have several children with her and parade them around the block. Betelgeuse had never been the marrying type, never felt like it, but looking down at the young woman his mind began to wrap around what a complete debauchery his life had become.

All the things he’d given up on because the world was spiraling into hell and he was a selfish, lazy, sleaze of a man. His mother a child of God, kind and clean, seemingly trying to make it her duty to keep his life in the same order as hers. Betel had always felt that she’s suffered from heartache over his self destructing actions.

His father had been a hard worker and plowed the belief that if he had a job, life would work out for his firstborn. The old man died a quick death with his wife by his side while out on the sea as a storm cloud rolled in. His mother's suspicions coming to fruition.

Yet, they were both sick, looking for a cure. Several people had told them the journey would be suicide. Rumor spoke his father had been struck by lightning & survived only to go down with his ship, holding onto his wife the entire time.

Both bodies carried away by sea.

Then there was Donny… 

Damn Donald.

He didn’t deserve the fate received out on that boat. His younger brother should have never taken over his father’s job. Donny should have never drowned in the same waters, on the same ocean, in a disease-ridden boat trying to pursue money for them both to continue living. A pursuit of money that kept Betelgeuse scuttling between towns full of death & sorrow trying to drown his body in the bitter taste of alcohol and trying desperately to stay unconscious of the world around him…

“T-Thank you.” The young woman blushed & Betel refocused on his task.

He hid his sudden disgust at the situation by offering the girl a weak smile. With his act of kindness, he knew he owned the crowd. As Betelgeuse looked up he plastered the largest, most charming smile he could on his face, and addressed the rest of the willful.

“Just try this Miracle Juice and see what shakes loose!”

…

_Year: 1388_

_Age: 37_

…

The first thing he did was slick back his oily bug infested hair. Usually, his hair stuck up in all sorts of directions it had never been so short. The way it framed his face gave him a “crazy” aura. Rubbing his chin he briefly thought about shaving the stubble away.

His face tightened at the thought.

Perhaps not.

The life he’d been leading had finally caught up to him. Being honest with himself, Betelgeuse didn’t want to live anymore. After a while, he gave up on pulling the wool over dying eyes. He was tired, bloated, hungry, and exhausted.

What did it matter anyway?

So he’d go to Hell?

Betel wanted to snort at that. “I’m already there.” Scratching his hair once more disturbed the small creepy-crawly’s that resided there. Not giving a damn he snatched one of the bigger bugs, a beetle of some sort, and ate it without any thought.

Food was scarce.

Halfway through chewing the surprisingly pleasant flavor ( _or he’d become used to it_ ) did Betel realize that there was a solution to all of his problems. A dark idea began to take shape in his mind as he swallowed his meal. Betel could have almost laughed at the simplicity, the utter perfection of his plan.

“I’m gonna take a bath.”

Breaking into one of the nicer boarded-up houses he passed Betel entered and maneuvered around the decomposed corpses of the family that had previously lived there. Luck had favored him that day and he'd found what he was looking for: a copper bathtub. The water looked disgusting, with a layer of scum & algae covered the surface, but beggars couldn't be choosers and he didn't have the energy to go looking for another fancy abandoned abode. Hell, he didn't have enough energy to find new water let alone heat it. 

So he stripped off the remains of his tattered clothes, bare to the world and stepped a swollen foot into the cool water. It actually felt nice till he slipped and went under. He could have easily rightened himself but... what was the point of relaxing. Instead of surfacing he held himself under the water, the materials in it stirred up and slipping into his open mouth as his body fought itself for survival.

Then...

...

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Unknown: Year

37: Death Age

He woke up. 

He was naked.

Weird bits of scum stuck to him.

Covering himself the man walked towards a light behind a counter.

A trial of water followed his path.

His hands were purple.

He was out of breath.

And confused.

A ticket.

6.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

...

"Number 6: Betelgeuse Juice?"

"Don't worry, I'll take this."

An older woman in a toga & sandals came out to greet him. 

"Hmph, aren't you a sight. Here..." She snapped her fingers and he was surrounded in smoke before he had time to panic. "...cover yourself."

When he opened his eyes he had on a pair of pants, strange tunic, coat, shoes, and hat. His body quickly soaked through the layers and when he opened his mouth to speak water & bits of scum poured out onto the floor. Coughing, he finally managed to spill out all the water that had been trapped in his lungs.

"Good, now that that is done with let's get you set up." The old lady offered him her hand. "The names Juno and I'll be your caseworker."

With wide eyes, his jaw fell open. "Am, am I dead?"

"Very good... a smart one." She gave him a closed smile showing off the slit in her throat. "Welcome to the Neitherworld."


End file.
